


Theatre of the Fallen

by kettlepillow



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Ballet, Ballet dancer Newt, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-06-24 14:37:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettlepillow/pseuds/kettlepillow
Summary: Newt Scamander is an ambitious British ballet dancer visiting New York.Little does he know that in this city, being a dancing man puts him into mortal danger...





	1. Chapter 1

A soft rain waved over New York City. Between the hurrying pedestrians, a man with a blue coat stood and stared at his surroundings in awe.

Newt Scamander had been to London many times. But the dimensions of this city were utterly different. He shivered. 

The afternoon hours gave a ghostly atmosphere to the scene. This was no place for people like him. Without money, without connections. He had to take a risk and he had to do it quickly. Sleeping outside would be dangerous and highly illegal.

The young man squared his shoulders and stopped in a corner of two crossing sidewalks.  
His field of vision was a blur of grey silhouettes, eager to escape the weather.  
He carefully removed the coat and laid it down before him, hoping that people would reward him with placing a few coins on it.  
Once more, goose bumps spread over Newt’s skin, caused by the water soaking the thin, tight unitard he wore.  
After stepping out of shoes and trousers he was merely a dancer who looked out of place.  
The first move was a bow to an invisible audience. His bare feet stood strong in the thin layer of rainwater under his soles. Splashing as he turned and opened his posture to the street.  
So he continued to move gracefully among the weary. Wind was his orchestra.

‘Oi fella! You’s gonna get arrested for that!’, Newt took the shouting man for a rude nobody.  
People stopped and stared. Whispering. Not even considering to give him a single dime.  
As time passed, the crowd grew. 

Newt had come to America with the ambitions of a young man full of passion for his work. Dancing was what he knew, what he was decent at. But his family had more traditional plans for him. To become a lawyer like his late father. To produce an heir and move to the countryside, to wait for old age fogging the unusual restless mind of his.  
But here he was, holding on to his dream of becoming a dancer.  
A feeling of discomfort took hold of his heart. The mood was changing. Some of the watching people ducked their heads and left. It was dead silent. Even the wind seemed to take a leave. 

In a matter of seconds, the audience split and a group of officers marched towards the dancing man.  
Newt stopped in his tracks and let out a shout of surprise, seeing the police men circle him. He clutched his barely covered frame and looked at them from underneath his soaked bangs.  
The oldest grabbed Newt’s wrists and put them in handcuffs without hesitation. 

“Sir. You are under arrest.”  
Newt stiffened.  
“Do cooperate or we will make you cooperate.”  
“I was just dancing to earn enough for a shelter!”  
The men snickered.  
“That’s what they always say.”  
As they began to move, Newt struggled.  
“M-my coat. Please!”

The coat was thrown in his face and fell to the ground, since he couldn’t catch it with tied wrists.

“Rich blue alpaca wool.” Said one of them, picking it up. “Bit fancy for a homeless ballerina.”  
They laughed and walked on.  
Newt tried to swallow his fear.  
He felt knuckles pressing into his ribs, his feet barely touched the ground. Seldom had Newt felt this helpless.

♦

The police station wasn’t far. 

Dimly glimmering gas lamps lined the walls.  
Newt was shoved onto a stool and they released one of his hands while tying the other to one table leg.  
Somebody sat down behind him by the entrance.  
He stared at the telephone in reach.

“One phone call.” Came a voice.  
Something pricked in his eyes. He took a deep breath.

“Tell me what my offence was.” Said Newt quietly.  
“Oh, you stubborn bastard. Don’t act so stupid and call you mother!”

Rain water and sweat seemed to penetrate his pores. He shivered. He wondered if a stranger had taken his shoes and trousers for himself by now.

“She is likely asleep.” Whispered Newt, wishing he had his pocket watch. Mother would not be amused if she knew that her misfit of a son was tied to a table in a room with another man, only wearing a wet unitard… 

The sigh from behind him indicated that it was time to get up.  
Minutes later he sat in a small cell in the back of the building, pulling the coat tightly around his torso. Waiting for sleep or death to take him.

When Newt opened his eyes again, he saw a bright beam of sunlight falling through one window slit in the grey wall.  
The next thing he noticed was his rough throat. Then he heard noises by the bars and the cell door was opened by an officer who eyed him with a mix of disgust and concern. 

“Somebody is here to see you.”  
Not knowing what to reply, Newt sheepishly followed into the bureau.

“The dancer, Sir.”  
Newt couldn’t see who was being addressed. He felt ashamed of his appearance. Ducking his head slightly, his naked feet came to a halt in front of a man with dark hair in an expensive black suit.  
He turned around.  
Newt kept his gaze down.  
There was a moment of absolute silence. Almost like the day before on the street, but this time the panic he felt was palpable and his empty stomach rebelled.  
Don’t vomit on his shoes.

“Thank you, Mr Hall.” Came the stranger’s baritone. “I will take care of it from here.”  
The officer hurried to leave.  
More silence.

Eventually the man turned and sat down in the office chair.  
“Sit down with me.” He said.  
Newt sank onto the chair on the opposite side of the wooden desk and cleared his aching throat. Slowly he looked up at the other man and was completely taken aback by his face.  
He was older than him, had strong brows and brown eyes. But nothing about the stranger alarmed Newt. He looked serious and elegant but not like the psychopath Newt had expected in a place like this.

“Who are you?” The intense gaze burned on the younger man’s face.  
“Newton Artemis Fido Lurch Scamander. But I prefer Newt.”  
“Newt.” Dark suit tasted the name like a foreign fruit.  
“May I ask who you are and why we are here?”  
“You’re a courageous man, Mr Scamander.”  
“With all due respect” Croaked Newt. “I’m tired of being pushed around and ridiculed like I committed a crime. I came here to find honest work.”  
The older man considered him.

“Do you want to get out?”  
Nodding.  
“If you agree on answering some more of my questions I will answer some of yours and you will be a free man.”

Dark suit led him outside and politely ignored his incomplete outfit. Under different circumstances, Newt would’ve avoided going somewhere with a total stranger in a city like New York. But anything was better than rotting in prison.  
A motor vehicle parked around the corner. It was polished like the gentleman who owned it. Said gentleman told him to take a seat in the back, greeted the chauffeur and got in after Newt.

“That is a magnificent automobile.” Mumbled Newt, trying to release some of the tension. His rescuer looked out the window.  
“Coincidentally, it’s called Phantom.”  
“I don’t understand.”  
“The Rolls-Royce Phantom is like me in a way. Unique and rarely seen.” He chuckled  
Newt was too scared to laugh at that. But the man had a very high opinion of himself as it seemed. Either that, or it was all a façade and he was really just uncomfortable himself.  
Phantom pulled up in front of a large building that looked like it had been carved from marble. 

♦

The entry hall reminded Newt of a luxurious train station. Gold, more marble and busy workers.  
“Welcome to MACUSA Security.” Said dark suit.

They entered the second bureau for the day. This time it was the man’s personal office. Once again he asked Newt to sit before his assistant brought Newt a stack of clothing and tea with scones.  
“Eat, drink and put some clothes on. Then we will talk some more.”

With that, Newt was left alone and free to stuff his face and shed the unitard like a second skin he had grown out of.  
He barely managed to brush the crumbs off his mouth before the stranger re-entered.  
Regarding the wrinkly piece of clothing on his carpet, he seemed to consider mentioning it, but just sat down instead and waited.  
Newt felt much more confident and his curiosity got the better of him.

“Who are you then?”  
“My name is Percival Graves. I am the director of this institution. Did you enjoy the tea?”  
“Oh- Yes… I didn’t expect such a British welcome.”  
“I have Irish roots.”  
“Oh, I see.” Newt watched his hands. He adjusted himself and looked back up. “Can I ask you another question, Mr Graves?”  
“Certainly.”

“Why am I here? What is all this about? I was dancing on the street to make some money to pay for accommodation. Then I was… captured and not even interrogated. And apparently a security expert bailed me out of prison for reasons I do not know.”  
“That’s not just one question. But I will do my best to answer anyway.”

Newt gave a relieved nod.  
Graves took a pen and rolled it between thumb and index finger. He seemed fascinated by it. Eventually his gaze met Newt’s.

“I was a dancer once. A long time ago. Just like you.”  
Newt gaped.  
Then the war happened. And men ought to serve in the military. It didn’t matter if your profession was about beauty, delicacy and bringing peace and joy to people’s souls. Gone were the ballet slippers. Swapped for boots and a weapon. But the dancers of the New York Ballet didn’t obey. They continued their work. Until the government made it obligatory for every male member to serve… It was a powerplay without any real purpose. What can a handful of men change? It was never about the additional men power.”

“I heard about that law.” Whispered Newt.  
Graves looked into the distance.  
“As you can imagine, many of my friends from the Ensemble did not return.” He inhaled. “Those who did however, were highly trained soldiers and they were angry.”  
Newt didn’t dare to move.

“They attacked the Mayor of New York City during a speech in an attempt to get their revenge.”  
“In the British papers I only read “A group of psychologically challenged veterans”.”  
“Not untrue.”  
“But… the ballet wasn’t mentioned at all.”  
“Because the most important part got never out there. Because what followed was against everything America wants to be seen as.”  
“How?”  
“The men were executed, their families, the female dancers. The risks were just too high. Their life was forfeit. Martial law is unforgiving. And then not long ago…the governor managed to pass a law that… forbids men to dance.”

He waited for Newt to process it.

“He argued that, fine arts, dancing in particular, does not strengthen a man. It weakens his mind and identity as the stronghold of national power.” He gestured. “As shown by the men of the New York Ballet.” He pursed his lips. “The senate doesn’t care for creative freedom in times of uproar. Especially when a mayor was put into a coma...”

Newt felt anger, confusion and pain all at once. 

“You survived.” He breathed.  
“Barely.”

“And now you rescue oblivious foreigners who dance in public.”  
Graves stood and wandered slowly from corner to corner.

“I want to recruit you, Newt.”  
His eyes fixed on blue eyes, wide in disbelieve.

“That is incredibly generous but- I don’t know anything about security.”  
For the first time, the older man cracked and let out a genuine, hearty laughter.

“Come with me. I want to show you what we actually keep safe and secure. Our greatest treasure.”

He was already down the first flight of stairs when Newt caught up to him.  
“Where are we going?”

Percival Graves jogged down the marble stairs with a new-found energy. He winked and Newt had shivers running down his spine. Not from rain this time, but hot spikes of excitement and longing.

“The Theatre of the Fallen.”


	2. Chapter 2

Their destination were the catacombs of the building. Deep down in the house’s belly, his eyes slowly adjusted to the artificial light. He stifled a yawn. Prison sleep was not the most refreshing.  
The first thing Newt noticed was the very high ceiling. The second was a young man scrubbing the floorboards of the stage at the very end of the room.

“It was supposed to become a bunker. But after hell broke loose, the officials had more pressing matters to attend to.” Explained Graves and spun around. “Credence!”  
The young man lifted his head and his pale features seemed to glow under the bowl cut.  
He put down the scrubber and walked over with hunched shoulders.

“Newt. This is Credence Barebone. Credence, meet Newt Scamander.”  
“Hello Credence. Pleased to meet you.”  
Credence looked at the extended hand cautiously before taking it.  
“Likewise.” He croaked.

“Credence just turned 18. I became his mentor after he was banned from foster care for dancing.”  
Newt couldn’t help but feel empathy for him. 

“I am looking forward to seeing you dance.”  
The pale features seemed to get even fairer, before blushing in shame.  
“I look after the theatre, mostly. Cleaning, repairing. A bit of stage work, maybe. Once we start that is.”

“Newt is here to help us with that. A very experienced dancer.” Said Graves and shot Newt a look of intend. “He just came all the way from England.”  
“Right.” Hurried Newt to agree.

“Would you be so kind as to show him around, Credence? I have some work to do.”  
“Of course.”

Credence walked slowly beside him as they crossed the room. He seemed slightly ill. Newt wondered what he had endured in the past.

“This is the stage.” Said the boy. “It’s the only thing we built from scratch. The furniture and all the other things you will see, were brought here prior to the attack on the Mayor, in order to prepare for the bunker construction. We worked at night. Otherwise it wouldn’t have stayed a secret for very long.”  
“It looks very good.”

They moved on to look at two remaining rooms behind the stage.  
One was a kitchen with oven and a large table. The other was set up to be the costume and makeup prep room. In one corner even stood a bed.  
The lavatory was little more than a tiled, narrow séparée in the back of said room.

~

“I live here.” Mumbled Credence out of nowhere.  
They sat at the table and drank something that might’ve been hot chocolate. But Newt wasn’t entirely sure.  
“Pardon?”  
The boy looked into his cup and continued a little louder.  
“Mr Graves was so kind to allow me to stay here. I had nowhere else to go after all.”  
Newt supressed the urge to squeeze his arm in compassion. He couldn’t imagine living underground and being grateful for it. But he understood the importance of feeling secure.

“I almost blew my opportunity to stay and learn, though.” Credence swallowed. His brows creased and he shook slightly.  
“How?” 

The boy looked at him. As if trying to figure out whether or not he could trust Newt, he searched his eyes for reproach. Maybe it was profound loneliness that loosened his tongue in the end.  
“I…” He gulped down the chocolate like a shot of whiskey, then inhaled deeply. “Mr Graves found out that I liked him.”  
Newt didn’t know how that could’ve been a problem.

“Liked him.” He repeated.  
“Yes.” Credence fingers twitched around the mug. He seemed to grasp for words. “Err… Not as a good comrade.”  
Newt’s face was completely blank, because he had trouble making sense of Credence’s meaning. He felt like a first year at ballet school, trying to follow the teacher’s instructions.

Credence pleading eyes found his.  
“I had fallen in love with him.” Whispered the boy.

“Oh.” Was all that Newt could manage. He didn’t know what the proper response looked like.  
The younger man sunk deeper into the chair and waited.

“What did Graves do after he found out, if you don’t mind me asking?”  
Credence let out a small laugh. Maybe it was relief.  
“He thought about it for a week. No visits. Nothing. I expected the police to storm in at any moment. I don’t know about England, but New York is not a place for homo- homosexuals hiding in a cellar.”  
Newt nodded.  
“After that one week he came down here and asked me to leave. He said it would be too dangerous for us to interact. So I left. Waited. Eventually I applied as a janitor at MACUSA Security. Properly. He agreed to let me work for my board and lodging.”  
Silence.

 

Newt emptied his own cup and stood slowly. He gave Credence a sincere smile.  
“Thank you. For everything. Take good care.”  
“Are you leaving?”  
“I have to find a place to stay myself. Evening is fast approaching.”

He jogged up the stairs. Some employees gave him confused looks in the hallway before he banged on the director’s office door.

“Enter!”  
Percival Graves was hidden behind a stack of papers. He looked up as no one addressed him.  
There stood Newt. Trying very hard to contain himself. With pursed lips and balled fists, he stepped inside.

“Newt.” Greeted the older man and put down his pen in surprise.  
“Mr Graves. Thank you for your offer, but I reject it.” Newt looked straight ahead at the wall.  
The director narrowed his eyes and leaned forward.

“May I ask why?”

“It would be too dangerous for us to interact.”  
His voice was calm. He heard his own breath loud as he turned to look at Mr Graves one last time. To enjoy his look of confused shock.

♦

Newt left the building with new found energy in his step. The heavy downpour felt like warm summer rain.  
It was slightly weird to leave with clothes he did not own, but his unitard had not been on the floor anymore and he refused to walk around only in a coat.  
Wandering the streets, he tried to move on from the conversation in the kitchen, but it kept creeping up on him. He marched on. Distracted by colours and smells, noises and foreign languages.  
He would spend his last dollar on some good food and then decide how to proceed.

After hours, the first shadows of dawn reached for the city and Newt entered an Irish pub.

There was a band playing in the back. Old men gambling by the fireplace. It was cosy.

“What can I get you?” Asked the waitress, shortly after Newt had taken a seat at the bar.  
“Some shepherd’s pie and a pint, please.”  
Newt wasn’t a regular drinker, but ordering water felt just wrong.

The bartender was a small man with a bald head. He watched Newt eat.  
“What happened to ye, lad? Ye look like shite.”  
“I’m fine. Thank you, Sir.”  
“Anyone who shoves that awful pie in like a last meal must’ve had a really bad day. Aye?”  
Newt was tired and just smiled politely. He thought of home and why he had left in the first place. Not even one day had passed and everything seemed so much more difficult than he had anticipated.

“Let the man eat.” Came a baritone from the stool next to him.  
He stumbled to stand.  
“Sit down, Newt. You really should eat.”  
“Mr Graves.”  
Newt recollected himself with some difficulties.  
“What are you doing here?”  
“I just wanted to ask you the same question.”  
“I’m eating shepherd’s pie.” Stated Newt matter-of-factly and sat back down.  
“And I’m just spending the evening amongst some fellow Irish men.” Sighed Graves and ordered Tullamore Dew.  
Newt felt uncomfortable, angry and exhausted all at once.

“Newt.” Began the older man. “I don’t know what Credence told you that caused you to run off like that. But I assure you, I have treated him with respect at all times. And I respect you just as much.”  
The other man stayed silent.  
“Look. I picked you up from prison and feel responsible for your safety. If nothing else, because I’m head of MACUSA.” He whispered.

“I’m not keen to depend on your benevolence.”  
“I want you to dance for our theatre.”  
“You mean the underground cathedral that Credence is cleaning and living in.”  
“Yes.” Sighed Graves. “I know that the circumstances are not ideal. But if we recruit more men and allow it to develop-“  
“Mr Graves. You sat a minor out on the street because he fell in love with you. A boy whom I can relate to in many ways, by the way. Please don’t expect me to work for a cause that is built on abuse.”

Graves mind seemed to rotate. He looked at his drink and then and Newt.  
“I am not a monster, Newton. I got scared. Because there are many things that I can give easily. But I couldn’t give Credence Barebone what he wanted. What he needed. And he understood.”  
Newt exhaled and gave a tense half smile.

“Could you see yourself spending this night in my guest room? In the morning you are free to go… or stay.”

To his surprise, Newt heard no anger in his voice. He considered his options and listened to the band’s version of Walk My Love.  
Eventually he stood and gave a nod. 

“Where’s your Phantom parked?”

♦

It was late when they arrived at a large town house.  
Mr Graves held the door to his apartment for Newt, while the old concierge pretended he didn’t notice.  
Newt had almost fallen asleep twice on their way. He just wanted to sleep.  
Thankfully, Graves seemed to hear his thoughts.

“I’m knackered.” He stated awkwardly. “I’ll show you the guest- and bathroom and then go to sleep.”

Newt followed him and wondered if he was always prepared to have guests. If he lived alone or if he was just seeing somebody.  
The apartment was meticulously clean and every piece of furniture seemed carefully selected.  
The guest room was no different. There was absolutely no sign of a past in dancing, however.

Newt looked around and eventually faced his host. In the gaslight of his beside lamp, Graves looked far less intimidating. Almost insecure. His admission in the pub had opened a side of him, that Newt found somewhat more human.  
“It’s very elegant.”  
He tried a small smile.  
Graves returned it and seemed relieved.

He wished him a good night and turned.  
Before closing the door, his frame came to a halt hesitantly.

“I want you to know that, I too relate to Credence in many ways.”

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Temporarily on hold for a holiday fic exchange. I'll continue after the assignment is due. 
> 
> This is my first fic for this fandom. Feedback is very welcome ^^ Thanks for reading and stay tuned~


End file.
